Davy's Blues
by OriginalPippie
Summary: Davy struggles with depression.


Warnings: A box of tissues is not required but may come in handy.

I'm going home today. In all honesty, I am all mixed up on how I feel about it. For one thing, seeing my friends will be nice, so will getting back in my own bed. However, I feel like I still don't want to be around my friends. I still don't want to be around anyone. I don't even want to be here. I am here because I felt as though I should be here. Never wanted to be here. Doing something because you want to and doing something because you think you should are completely different things.

Since I've been here, I've never actually sought help. Never really wanted it. Again, I just thought I _should _come here for it. The whole time, though, I've just been pretending. Pretending to listen to what the counselors have had to say to me. Pretending to get better. Pretending to care. Every smile has been completely faked, but they have been called "progress." There was no progress, since I'm still the same.

Everything has been going on inside of me for quite some time. Everything and nothing at the same time. When I look back, I can see how things might have led me to the place I'm in now. Happiness. Not just the lack of it. I have a problem with it. Always wanting to make sure that the people around me are happy. One day I felt like I wasn't doing that any more, making people happy. No matter how hard I tried, I felt I couldn't do it. I felt like I wasn't good enough for it any more. I felt like if I couldn't make others happy, then I couldn't be happy with myself. Once I realized that, everything else inside me just… vanished. Everything but misery.

It was really the little things that happened first. What I mean by little things, I mean... oh, not feeling like eating every meal, not really being "up" to doing things that I liked… even not getting enough sleep. Soon, though, these things… well they got worse for me. I began eating less and less, not really having the desire to eat anything. I stopped enjoying the things I used to love. The excuses started coming. Excuses I'd use to get out of doing things like going to the beach with the fellas and even just hanging with them to watch television. Just having a simple conversation with them became something to avoid for me. I also came up with excuses to exclude myself from band practice. That should have been the biggest red flag for them that I was having a hard time, when I stopped wanting to sing. Singing is something that, when I do it, makes other people happy. Whenever I made people happy by singing, it made me happy. But… but I felt like there was no longer any point to it. There was no longer a point in trying to be happy. I felt like I was being forceful with my singing, just trying so hard to be happy with it. Once I felt that, I didn't want to do it anymore. It just made me even more miserable.

Adding to the list of things that I had stopped doing, socializing had become the worst for me. I had gotten to the point where I dreaded it. Yet another big fat red flag. I had even stopped dating. I stopped calling any of the girls I knew. In fact, I can remember the last date I had, if you can call it that. It was a couple months before I got really bad. The fellas decided to try to cheer me up by dragging me out of the house. We got a bite to eat and the waitress we had, for some reason decided to chat me up. I still believe she did it out of pity. I certainly didn't ask her out, as I just didn't have it in me. She insisted that I go on that date with her. As much as I hated the thought of going out, and as bad as I felt about myself, and as much as I felt I was just being pitied…. I still went. As it was, the date barely existed, at least on my part. I know I wasn't good company for the girl. She practically came and dragged me out of the house. I didn't even put in effort to fix myself up for it. Barely even participated in the dinner she dragged me to. I didn't even have the energy to eat. Don't even remember what I ordered; didn't eat it anyway.

Then, back at the pad, I honestly don't know why she stuck around after dinner, we spent the remainder of the night on the couch staring at the telly. I didn't interact with her. She might as well have not been in the room with me. She tried to talk to me and she tried to move in closer to me a few times. I just sat there, staring at the TV screen. I wasn't even watching what was poor girl soon said her goodbyes and left. When I was alone… I felt completely alone. Honestly, I hadn't expected it, but… there were some tears. When the fellas came in and saw me sitting there in the dark, I could feel more pity from them. It was so unwanted… and I felt so uncomfortable just seeing them, so I just got up and went into the bedroom.

That date wasn't even what I'd call a "bad" night for me. It was… pretty much normal. After that, I started spending more and more time in bed. Not necessarily sleeping, just… not wanting to move and especially not wanting to be sociable. At first, there were… well interruptions. What I mean by this is, the fellas would come into the room with their sympathies, trying to get me up and about. They offered me words such as… "Why don't you come out and spend some time with us?" When that sort of thing got old, they began saying things like "This just isn't like you, Davy. We're all concerned about you." There were also the popular phrases such as "Wish you could feel better, Davy." "Wish there was something I could do to help." All good and well meaning, fellas, but none of it was anything I needed to hear. It only made me feel worse. I hated knowing they were concerned about me. I didn't feel like I deserved it. I didn't deserve pity, sympathy, or concern. I felt like the absolute least deserving person. It made me uncomfortable and far more miserable.

I had moments where I'd leave my bed. However, I only went as far as the downstairs bathroom. And I only went in there to avoid any possible interaction with everyone while I cried. How could I let them see me that way? Somehow, shedding tears seemed worse than just laying there, curled up in a motionless ball on my bed. The thing is I thought it'd give them something extra to worry about. Whenever I had one of those moments, crying in the bathroom, I was so beyond miserable. I was wallowing in my own self-pity… self-hatred. I was completely beating myself up, putting down everything good about me. It's hard to believe that there's anything good about yourself when you're in such a miserable place. When I looked in the bathroom mirror, while still crying, I hated what I saw. I didn't see me; I saw everything I hated about myself. That's something really hard to take.

One day, I was sitting on the bathroom floor, with my face pressed against my legs as I cried. I was having a really hard time getting past the tears. All sorts of darkness was surrounding me, consuming me. My thoughts kept screaming at me, trying to convince me that I was worthless, and a big waste of space, and completely unlovable and alone. Then I heard the knocks on the door that brought me out of my thoughts. I looked toward the door, feeling the tears continue to roll down my face. I heard Peter calling my name. His voice, so full of concern, was enough to stab through me, making me feel even worse. All he said was my name, but the way he said it was so full of emotion, so worrisome, and with so much pain. I couldn't handle it. Tried to block it out, but he called my name again. This time he said more, pleading me to come out, to talk, to give some sort of response at all. I also began to hear Mike and Micky as they stood nearby, whispering to Peter. I knew they were just as concerned. There was no way out of this. There was no way to avoid this. I knew that I'd better respond or they'd keep talking to me. They'd keep trying to coax me out of the bathroom. Even though I forced it, even though it was quiet, I still managed to respond by saying I'd be okay. I just wanted them to know I only needed time to get through this moment, and I didn't need them to worry about me. This was one of my bad days.

Soon, I began having a hard time staying in bed. At the same time, it was hard for me to get out of bed. I had developed a physical pain which made any position difficult to remain in after a while. The pain was often in my neck and shoulders. Sometimes the pain was throughout my back. At first, I thought it was just because I had been staying in bed for so long. But the pain lingered after moving about a little. It caused me to start popping aspirin as though they were breath mints. I thought briefly about taking something stronger, but I knew that would mean dragging myself to see a doctor and then telling him why I needed the pain medication. I didn't want to go through that. Also, I didn't want to end up needing to keep taking something to feel "normal". I just felt it was better to keep suffering, to keep myself in misery.

I began to ignore that pain and made daily attempts at moving about the house instead of staying in bed. These attempts usually ended up with me on the couch for several hours. During this time I'd sit until it got dark, wouldn't speak to anyone and didn't move at all. Then I'd get up and drag myself back into bed. Still, however, I woke up with the same miserable "why bother?" attitude and I didn't get out of bed. Most of the time was then spent staring at the wall and trying to block out my negative thoughts. Often, someone would come and sit with me, desperately trying to get me to talk. I had nothing to say. Or rather, nothing I wanted them to hear. I knew that if I opened up with these terrible thoughts, it would only make them worry about me more.

There was one day in particular that I remember. I woke up feeling restless; yet, I didn't want to do anything. I made myself get out of bed even though "why bother?" echoed through my thoughts. Think I shocked everyone when I actually went into the kitchen and grabbed some food. When I sat at the table, though, I just stared at the food with absolutely no desire to eat it. I could feel everyone's disappointment as I went back into the bedroom. Had to ignore them in order to keep myself together. Left the bedroom with a pack of my smokes and a lighter, then I went out on the balcony. As I stood there, staring out towards the water, everything seemed so… empty. I lit the cigarette but I didn't even hit it. It just sat there between my fingers the whole time I had it. For a while I stood there, staring. My emotions began to creep up, and all these awful thoughts came to me at once. I never felt more scared, more ashamed, more… worthless in my life. I began to question my own existence at that point. Slowly, as tears fell, I started sinking down. By the time I was sitting, I was a total wreck, bawling my eyes out. I think Mike was the first one out, rushing to my side. He scooped me up and gave me the firmest hug I ever felt from him. It was as though he thought he had to physically hold on tight to me or I would slip away. He continued to hold me as Peter and Micky came out to join us. I couldn't bear to look at anyone and it was even harder to stop the tears.

After they managed to get me to calm down, they convinced me to come back inside to talk to them. This was the most difficult conversation I ever had with anybody, but I opened up and spilt everything. And they just listened. Near the end of everything I had to say, I realized I should get help. _Should. _I didn't want help, there is a difference. I admitted to them that this was how I felt. Of course, they agreed and said how they'd support me no matter what.

It was the very next day when I checked myself into the hospital. Said how I had been suffering like this for several months. I've been here for a couple weeks now, going through the motions of getting better. The problem is, I'm still very much suffering. I don't know what I'm going to do when the fellas come pick me up later. I feel like I have to continue hiding the way I really feel. This is going to be harder than my actual struggles with this depression. I don't want to let them down. I don't know what else to do. I'm just a failure, a big disappointment. I couldn't even get proper help when I came here for it myself.

Right at first, just like at home, I kept to myself. I stayed mainly in my room but I wasn't alone. My roommate, who was further along in his therapy than I was, constantly tried engaging me in conversation. He was constantly talking whether I was listening or not. I nearly lost it one day when he kept yakking. I wanted to strangle him. Started crying instead. I was so upset that he wound up getting the doctor to try to calm me down. It was the next day after that happened when I decided that, if I was going to make it through this hospital stuff, I'd have to play along with what they wanted from me. I didn't tell myself I was going to try. I didn't tell myself I was going to get better. I told myself to give the hospital what they wanted. I was going to fake my way through recovery. That, I know now, was the worst mistake I could make.

So now, here I am, waiting to go home. I'm scared, honestly. I'm so mixed up on what I should do. I want to go home but I feel like I should stay here. Sitting here waiting is getting really hard. I don't know what else to do but cry. I know I messed up by deciding to fake getting better. I'm not better at all; I actually feel worse. Right now, I just want to curl up in bed and hope I'm ignored. I hope nobody shows up. I don't want them to see me now. God what am I doing? I hate myself. I really do. I think… I think I need to talk to my doctor. Let him know what's going on. I have to get help for real because I can't suffer any more. These tears won't stop though. How am I supposed to face anybody now? I can't. I can't go home. I have to stay here. I have to actually get better. Why does this have to be so hard?


End file.
